All The Time In The World
by Douglas Paterson
Summary: Several years after the Colonel Sun affair, Bond finds himself face to face with an enemy who tore his life apart and is preparing to do so again. Sent by M to bring an end to the most horrific chapter of his life, Bond will be tested to his limits.
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

The child wailed and beat its tiny, ineffective fists against the woman. He pushed and squirmed and pulled at her hair, so desperate to get away. She paid him no attention, she did not react.

He was not thinking, he could not think. He had nowhere to go, nowhere to run. Everyone was dead. He had seen it happen, and although he did not understand death he knew it was something terrible. He had to get away. That was all that mattered.

He knew nothing of death, he had never seen it in his four years – but he sensed that this was not the way people were meant to die. He knew they were meant to get old and then fall asleep forever.

They were not meant to be mown down by loud, roaring machines. So many lives, just stopping all at once. That was so wrong. They were gone and he could not understand why.

The woman had come to their small village, he did not know how long ago. He could not tell the time, his mother had not taught him that yet. It did not feel like very long ago, but so much had changed.

The ugly woman with the red hair. She carried him now, towards the helicopter, away from the burning wreck he had known as his home.

And now she dared to sing to him, sing in a language he did not understand. He was only four, only just beginning to find his true voice.

Still he fought, through the tears that were streaming down his face. He kicked and screamed, hoping that someone would come and save him. In his heart he knew there was no one left, the men with the guns had seen to that.

She said something else now, and he tried to pull away. She was not singing, she was speaking to him. English. He knew some English, his mother had said it was important that he know the language of his father. The words, he did not understand them all, but they were horrible – terrible.

"This is all thanks to your father, little one," she said. Then they were at the helicopter and he could hear nothing but the whirling of the blades, he felt the air pushing at him, twisting his face.

Then she turned him away from the Helicopter. He saw his home, burning. The whole village was burning, he could hear screaming and more of those terrible shots ringing in the night. He cried harder, tears streaming down his face as he remembered his mother. Alive and singing sweetly one second, dead and broken, bleeding in the corner the next. So much horror, so much death.

Then before he knew it, he was on the helicopter. They were speaking around them in another language he had never heard. In a few moments they were in the air, heading away.

He sat, quiet now. He did not move, he did not scream. He just sat there, hoping that soon he would be dead too.

Tiger Tanaka, head of the Japanese Secret Service, stood in the centre of the island. His men were surveying the island, taking stock of the damage. Counting the bodies. He would rarely take a risk such as this, coming out in public – especially to an area where dozens of people had just been butchered.

But this was a special case. He had taken a great deal of interest in this island for the past four years. Ever since the death of Dr. Guntram Shatterhand and the disappearance of Taro Todoroki. He had watched over the child, ensured that he wanted for nothing. He felt he owed it to his friend. Now he feared he had failed him.

One of his men walked over to Tiger, signalling him as he approached. They had been searching the girl's home for hours now, sifting through the ash. And now they had clearly found something.

"One body," his agent told him, "Probably her. The fire has burned it to a crisp, but we are sure it is female."

"And is there any sign of the boy?" Tiger asked.

The agent shook his head. "Nowhere," he said.

Then suddenly a commotion, shouting. Tiger Turned to face the noise – his men had found a survivor. They were digging at the rubble furiously, desperate to save the man. Finally they hauled him out and dragged him to one of the few patched of unburned grass.

Then his men turned and began digging again, looking for more survivors. Ever hopeful, thought Tiger. It was a miracle they had found one.

A medic had made his way to the man, he was going to help. There was no time to waste. Tiger marched to where the man lay, stepping over bodies and ignoring the smell of cooked human flesh that filled his nostrils. He dismissed the medic who did not argue. He knew better than to cross Tiger Tanaka.

"What did you see?" he asked, "What happened here. You must tell me."

The man had fought for breath. Moments passed and Tigers patience grew thin, he was prepared to threaten the man when finally he spoke.

"A woman. Fat, red hair. She came with men. Guns… she took...," he flew into a fit of coughing, then his eyes closed at he was still. The medic rushed over and checked.

"He is alive. But we must treat him now," he said.

Tiger nodded and the medic set to work. Tiger thought over the words he had heard and he knew who the attacker was.

It could have been one hundred different women, going by the vague description. But somehow he just knew, it was as though he had always known this moment, this battle, would come.

Tiger sighed. He shouted to his men, someone must prepare the boat. Tiger had an unenviable task ahead of him. He knew his actions would begin a chain of events that could only lead to devastation, to pain and misery for many. But he had no option.

He had to contact The British Secret Service.

He had to tell James Bond that his son is missing.


	2. The Meeting

**CHAPTER ONE**** - THE MEETING**

Tiger Tanaka has explained the situation not to Bond himself, but to the head of the British Secret Service – Admiral Sir Miles Messervy, known only to most of those who worked for him as M.

Tanaka had told M everything he could, including information he should never have passed on to the head of another Secret Service. However, as Tanaka had said, some things are more important than secrets. Honour and friends amongst them.

The full details were scarce, although he informed M of his suspicions. M himself did not share Tanaka's convictions as to who was behind the attack – he believed firmly that the woman Tanaka held responsible was dead.

Still he thanked his Japanese opposite, and the encrypted phone call had ended.

M had sat alone in his office for some time, his mind going over each and every detail his equivalent in Japan had been able to provide. His pipe, which rarely left his mouth had lain on his desk untouched. He ignored telephone calls, eventually becoming so distracted by their frequency that he had buzzed his secretary and assistant Miss Moneypenny and shouted at her to stop sending them through.

M admired the way she had handled it. She had professionally, and quite unnecessarily, apologised. M knew the woman was simply doing her job.

An hour after the phone call, he had stepped through his office door into the office occupied Miss Moneypenny and had, in his own gruff way, issued an apology.

He had then asked her to call in Bill Tanner, his Chief of Staff. Tanner was the closest thing Bond had to a friend, the two often playing golf together.

M knew that Tanner's opinion and insight would be valuable if he were to make the correct decision regarding how to proceed.

He had also requested that Sir James Moloney join them. Sir James was a psychologist of great renown had treated Bond on more than one occasion. The first time when Bond's wife had been killed, leaving his agent an incompetent wreck. The second time was when Bond had been brainwashed into an attempt on M's life.

M hoped that with these two men, the two men in the world who probably best knew Bond, he would be able to make the right choice.

The three men sat on the room, Tanner and Moloney on the other side of M's large wooden desk.

"So what do you think, Sir James?" M asked.

The Psychologist shifted uncomfortable in his seat, as though hesitating or stalling for time. M used the momentary silence to relight his extinguished pipe.

"I think," Moloney began, "that you are in a very difficult situation. Bond is not the man he was a few years ago."

M nodded. He was well aware of the fact.

"The incident a few years ago in Greece is the best example. After everything he went through with the gangster Blofeld, followed by the brainwashing and Scaramanga. He was not the same man," Moloney explained, unnecessarily.

The 'incident in Greece', as Moloney called it, referred to the incident with Colonel Sun, a madman who had engineered M himself being kidnapped. Bond had, of course, found him and saved him – but the agent who had once abhorred killing had left a trail of bodies in his wake, each one killed more brutally than the last.

That had been Bond's last 'big' assignment. Since then, he had been involved in smaller, less difficult cases. Once Bond had confronted M about it, and accused the old man of being ungrateful. Bond had saved his life and in doing so had put his own on the line.

M had not admitted it, but after seeing the carnage Bond left behind him whilst trying to track him down, he was afraid of what Bond was capable of. And yet, he could not bring himself to fire the man who saved him.

"I don't think he'll ever really recover from everything that happened to him. He's a strong man, but no man could endure all that," said Moloney, finally.

M nodded, saying nothing. He turned to look at Tanner.

"What would you do, Bill?" he asked. Tanner noted the use of his first name – the old man was feeling vulnerable, reaching out for a friend. This did not happen often. Tanner replied almost immediately.

"He does need to be told sir. And we do need to act, as far as I can see this is a deliberate act against one of our agents.

"And I don't think Bond would take well to any other agent being assigned the case. Like Sir James said, he's not the same man. I think if he's not on the case officially, we're likely to have a rogue agent on our hands. And you know Double-O-Seven sir, he's…"

"The best," M finished, "Yes he is. To be honest, I don't know if we've got another man to match him. A rogue-007 is a worrying prospect, Bill. I'm worried about what will happen, though, if we let him loose on this case. Greece…"

"If he's willing to go to those lengths to save you, what lengths will he go to too save his son?"

"Exactly, Chief of staff, exactly," said M. He turned to Moloney. "And what do you think, Sir James."

He did not hesitate this time, he answered M straight away.

"You need to send Bond after his son. Tanner knows Double-O-Seven better than I do. But given what I do know, I would say his assessment was accurate. It needs to be Bond."

M nodded. He glanced down at the open file in front of him, detailing Bond's career as a Double-O-Agent. He paused for a moment, considering. Then he looked up at the two men once again.

"You can get back to whatever you were doing. I've made up my mind. Bill, on your way out, ask Miss Moneypenny to send up Double-O-Seven.


	3. An Official Mission

**CHAPTER TWO**** - AN OFFICIAL MISSION**

James Bond sat in his office, pouring over paperwork. He scrawled his signature on the final page of a document without reading it and with some bitterness he tossed it onto the hefty pile that made up his 'out' tray.

All he ever seemed to have to do now was paperwork. Every day had become a monotonous routine, reading over file after file, running his eyes over the latest developments in tradecraft. The cases which called upon his particular and unique talents were few and far between. He was rotting.

After successfully retrieving M from Greece several years earlier, he had been assigned to a mission that took all three Double-O agents to the Amazon Rainforest. They had been tasked with the rescue of the daughter of a Cabinet Member who had been kidnapped.

They had spent days cutting their way through the dense rainforest, luckily avoiding the various venomous plants and animals dwelling within it. They had eventually found an abandoned military bunker in a man-made clearing, and Bond had gone in.

He had refused to follow protocol; it would have taken too long. Because of that, the other two Double-O agents had been injured. The girl had been rescued, everyone had lived. But Bonds name was mud at HQ.

He pulled open the top drawer of his desk, where he had hidden a bottle of cheap Scotch. Somehow, disregarding his usual tastes and opting for cheap and nasty whiskey was more fulfilling. It did not need to be savoured or enjoyed; it was simply there to numb boredom and pain.

There was a knock at his door. Mary Goodnight entered without waiting to be allowed – the two had dispensed with such formalities after their experiences together in Jamaica several years earlier. When he had returned to service he had requested she be transferred back here, as long as she was happy to return.

She had been and the two had slipped back into the old routine. However, she remained closer to him than she was with either of the other agents with the Double-O prefix which marked an agent licenced to kill.

She stood in front of his desk. Bond tried to close the top drawer without drawing attention to it and smiled up at her.

"Good morning, Goodnight." The joke they shared. She did not smile back at him, she had her eye on the drawer. She had seen, she knew. She turned on her heel and walked out, calling out to Bond as she left.

"You're wanted in M's office. Now."

The door slammed shut behind her and Bond sighed. He was becoming weak, he had lost his edge. But damn it, he thought, it was not his fault. If M used him he would be able to keep his edge sharp. He was being left in this office to rot.

He stood up, pulling on his suit jacket and left the room, slamming his door behind him. He passed Mary Goodnight, who was sitting behind her own desk. She glared at him frostily as he passed.

Bond took the elevator to the highest level and marched along the corridor. He opened the door to the reception, manned by the desirable Miss Moneypenny. He shot her a small smile.

"What can you tell me, Penny?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I don't know anything James. He's keeping me in the dark. It must be big."

Bond nodded. He saw the light above the door change to green and turned to Moneypenny.

"He'll see you now, James," she said. The door clicked open and Bond opened it, and stepped through it.

Bond entered to find his superior sitting behind his desk as expected. He was puffing on his pipe, staring down at a file. He looked up as the door clicked shut behind Bond and gestured to the chair.

"Sir down, 007," He said. Bond walked over to the chair and rested his hand on the back.

"I'll stand if it's all the same to you sir," he replied. M frowned.

"Suit yourself 007. Smoke if you want."

Bond nodded and removed his cigarette holder from inside his suit jacket. He selected one of his distinctive Morland Specials cigarettes with the three gold bands and lit it, inhaling deeply.

M continued: "I'm afraid what I have to say concerns a… a personal matter James."

Bond inclined his head slightly, intrigued by what the old man was saying. He took another drag on his cigarette. M seemed slightly flustered by the conversation. Bond was well aware the old spymaster found personal discussions to be uncomfortable conversation.

"Before I say anything else," M continued, "I want you to understand there's a reason we kept this information from you. You'll understand when we go on – it was a difficult decision to make."

Bond leaned forward over the chair, further intrigued by M's words. The older man looked Bond in the eye, removed his pipe from his mouth and coughed lightly.

"I received a phone call from Tiger Tanaka an hour and a half ago. Kissy Suzuki is dead. James Suzuki is missing."

Bond froze. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears, his vision blurred. Suddenly he was sitting in the chair, without any memory of sitting down. When Bond finally snapped back to reality he found his hands clenched tight.

M watched, looking for signs of something, Bond did not know what.

When Bond finally spoke, his voice was steady and calm. It surprised even Bond himself.

"Who?" he asked. M looked back down at his file, Bond knew this was an act – M knew every single detail off by heart. He was playing for time, using the file as a prop. Whatever the answer, this action told Bond that M expected it to provoke a powerful reaction.

"The whole village was burned to the ground. One survivor – based on his description, Tanaka believes that Irma Bunt has kidnapped your son."

The blood pounding in the ears again, white noise filling his brain. Bond struggled to catch his breath. Irma Bunt, the pig faced escort to Ernst Stavro Blofeld. No. She was dead, he was sure she was dead.

Bond heard it all again, he lived the events. The squealing of car tires – the sound of shots. Tracy, dead in his arms. Blofeld… strangling the life out of the monster who had robbed him of a future. Falling. Water. Then nothing.

Bond did not hear the clock ticking, his eyes fixed to the floor. Time seemed to stand still, the same events on a loop in his mind. Why had he been sure Bunt was dead. He had never seen the body.

That was the rule. If you don't see the body, assume the target is alive.

When Bond returned, when he finally checked his watch, he found ten minutes had passed. He looked up, expecting M to be glaring at him.

Instead he saw something he had rarely glimpsed in the old man's eyes: sympathy. Understanding.

"This goes against every rule in the book, James. If the higher-ups find out I've done this they will have my head," M stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"I want you to go after Bunt and rescue James Suzuki. This is an official mission, 007. We will not tolerate enemy action taken against our men."


End file.
